Surfing the Pearl
The smell of salt water, a sight tang of iodine, a whiff of wax on the longboard, and a fresh breeze…
“Buddy, wow, what a day! Are you nervous?”
He was full of energy, a bit scared, but I reassured him. “Look, we’re not the only ones out here.”
I pointed to some vague shapes in the water, dolphin forms, or the equivalent on Pearl. The reddish sun was high in a tall, pink sky with drifting clouds.
Pearl’s gravity was 9/10 of Earth’s. Its atmosphere was deep, warm and moist. Pearl’s close, single moon, an orange disk larger than the red sun, descended toward the watery horizon. My indicator said the tidal wave was due in 15 minutes.
“Buddy, do you remember that monster surf at Maui after Hurricane Julia? That was something, wasn’t it?” We were enjoying a Zen surfer moment, floating on our longboard in Pearls’ serene ocean.
Buddy sent me a flash of the wave off the Western shore of New Zealand. That was something I did NOT want to think about.
“Well, the thing about waves is that you can never trust them.” That wave broke twice, and pinned me underwater long enough to almost drown me. It rolled me good, nearly killed me. Buddy watched from the shore that day. He swam out to haul me in, lungs half full of water and semi-conscious.
I had been surfing monster waves for 13 years. It was partly for the challenge, part- ly for the record, but mostly for the thrill. Riding that perfect wave, getting the timing
right, keeping my weight forward and on the right slope, not getting left behind and not getting spilled.
“We’ve had some doozies, Buddy. This one will top them all.”
Pearl’s huge moon hauled up a tidal wave with a 150 meter face, maybe 75 meters high, every 8 hours, reliable as clockwork. In the deep sea, this would be a fast-moving lump in the sea. It took a shallow spot in Pearl’s ocean to make it break. There weren’t many shallow spots on Pearl. Our wave would break on Midship Banks. the only spot where adventure seekers were allowed access to Pearl’s endless ocean. The wave, of- ten a train of three waves, would form up, lifting the horizon and sweeping toward us at 250 knots. It would slow down, pile up and break just in front of us. If we stayed on it, it would carry us completely over Midship Banks and then subside once more into a lump in the vast ocean.
We could ride that wave for kilometers.
“Buddy, here it comes, Are you up for it?”
Buddy looked over his shoulder, took a stance. He was nervous. The wave began to pile up — an immense mountain of water. It grew higher and foam started spilling from the peak.
Buddy was now afraid. Nether of us had ever seen a wave like this. It was awe- some!
“Paddle, Buddy, paddle for all you’re worth!”
Buddy put his chest down on the board and worked all four paws as fast as he could. The board surged ahead, climbing, climbing, climbing as the wave lifted us. He looked over his shoulder. The peak was behind us! We were on the wave, shooting down its smooth face into a canyon of water. Buddy stood up, all four paws dancing on the board.
“Straight down until we get half way, Buddy.” We were gaining on the wave. The speed of our descent rippled the fur on Buddy’s neck. His long tongue lolled with the effort.
“Now shift left, take the diagonal. It might make a pipe.”
Buddy shifted his weight to the left side and the board curved beautifully across the wave, moving as fast as a light airplane. Spume curled up from the board as the fins bit. We drew a fat V wake across the face of the wave.
The wave began to break over us, forming a pipe. Should we take it? If it col- lapsed, we would be sucked under and pressed to the bottom. I didn’t want to think about it, but there could be rocks down there, like the one off New Zealand where I got tumbled and hit my head.
“What the hell, Buddy, let’s go for it.”
We worked our way up toward the top of the wave and it broke clean over us, leaving a lovely, green pipe. It was like being under a waterfall, The crashing of the falling water was deafening, but we did not care. This was what we wanted. This is what we lived for. Buddy barked, and we listened to the echo. Buddy put his tail in the wave. We were going so fast it almost dragged him off the board.
The pipe didn’t last long in the wind from our motion. It began to collapse inward. Buddy spotted an exit and we went downwave for it.
We thrashed our way up and down that wave for another 40 minutes. On the other side of Midship Bank the excursion boat chased us down and plucked us out of the water. Buddy got toweled dry and came over to my wheelchair. He put his snout in my lap and and wagged his tail, his black fur smelling of wet dog. He showed me his pictures of his favorite parts of the wave. He wasn’t scared any more. He was full of companionship and love and doggish energy. It was good to share with his human.
“Sir, we have to end the synaptic transfer now, unless you intend to remain part dog.”
“Would that mean Buddy would also be part human?”
“I don’t know about that, sir, but these synaptic transfers can cause problems if they run too long.”
“OK,” ReluctantIy, I gave permission. “Buddy, thank you so much for the ride.” The tech removed our transfer collars.
Now I was just a paralyzed surfer in a wheelchair and Buddy was just a dog.
